Thomas Hardy — After a romantic day

       &nbsp The railway bore him through        &nbsp       &nbsp An earthen cutting out from a city:        &nbsp There was no scope for view, Though the frail light shed by a slim young moon        &nbsp Fell like a friendly tune.        &nbsp Fell like a liquid ditty, And the blank lack of any charm        &nbsp Of landscape did no harm. The bald steep cutting, rigid, rough,        &nbsp And moon-lit, was enough For poetry of place: its weathered face Formed a convenient sheet whereon The visions of his mind were drawn